AT THAT TIME I always spent the first hours ofthe night on the Terrace of the Sorrowless, eitheralone or with Medinī. Then my father came forward, and behind him Sātāgira.A couple of soldiers armed to the teeth followed, and afterthem came a man who towered a full head above theothers. Finally, yet other soldiers brought up the rear ofthis strange, not to say inexplicable, procession. Two ofthe latter remained to guard the door, whilst all the otherscame directly towards me. At the same time I noticed thatthe giant in their midst walked with great difficulty, andthat at every step there resounded a dismal clanking andrattling.

The group now advanced from the shadow of thewall into the moonlight and then I saw with horror that thegiant figure was loaded with chains. His hands werefettered at his back, about his ankles clanked heavy ironrings which were linked to either end of a huge rod andwere connected by double chains of iron with a similarring around his neck. As is usual in the case of a prisoner who is being conducted to the scaffold, around his neck and on his hairy breast there hung a wreath of the red Kanavera blossoms; and the reddish‐yellow brick‐dust with which his head was powdered caused the hair hanging down over his forehead, and the beard which reached almost to his eyes, to appear yet more ferocious.As to who stood before me I should not have needed to inquire, even if the Kanavera blossoms had concealed the symbol of his terrible name — the necklace of human fingers.

"Now, Angulimāla," Sātāgira broke the silence,"repeat in the presence of this noble maiden what youhave confessed on the rack regarding the murder of theyoung merchant Kāmanīta of Ujjenī.""Kāmanīta was not murdered," answered therobber gruffly, "but taken prisoner and made away with,according to our customs."And he now related to me in a few words what myfather had already told me of the matter.I stood, meanwhile, with my back to the Asokatree, and supported myself by clutching the trunk withboth hands, burying my finger‐nails convulsively in thebark in order to keep myself from falling.

He came a step nearer."Well then, maiden, be witness now to the Rite ofTruth."Once again the lightning of his glance struck me asit swept upward and fixed itself upon the moon in such away that, in the midst of the tangle of his discoloured hairand beard, only the whites of his eyes were still visible.His breast heaved, so that the red flowers moved as in adance, and with a voice like that of thunder rolling amongthe clouds, he called aloud:"You who tame the tiger, snake‐crowned Goddessof Night! You who dance by moonlight on the pinnacles ofthe mountains, your necklace of skulls swaying andcrashing, gnashing your teeth, swinging your blood‐filledskull‐cup! Mother Kālī! Mistress of the robbers! You whohave led me through a thousand dangers, hear me! Trulyas I have never withheld a sacrifice from you; truly as Ihave ever loyally observed your laws; truly as I did dealwith this Kāmanīta according to our statute — the statutewhich commands us Senders when the ransom does notarrive by the appointed hour, to saw the prisoner throughthe middle and cast his remains on the public road —just as truly stand by me now in my direst need, rend mychains, and free me from the hands of my enemies."

As he said this he made a mighty effort — thechains rattled and shattered, arms and legs were free, thetwo soldiers who held him lay prone on the earth, a thirdhe struck down with the iron links which hung at his wristsand before any one of us clearly understood what washappening, Angulimāla had swung himself over theparapet. With a fierce shout Sātāgira gave chase.That was the last I saw or heard.Afterwards I learned that Angulimāla had fallen,broken a foot and had been captured by the guard; that hehad later died in prison under torture, and that his headhad been placed over the east gate of the town whereMedinī and Somadatta had seen it.

With Angulimāla's Rite of Truth my last doubt andmy last hope left me. For I knew well that even the fear‐some Goddess Kālī could not have worked a miracle torescue him if he had not had the strength which truth lentto his side.As to what should now become of me I troubledmyself little, for on this earth everything good was hence‐forth lost. Only in the Paradise of the West could we twomeet again. You had gone before me and I would, as Iardently hoped, soon follow. Only there could happinessblossom — all else was a matter of indifference.

As Sātāgira now continued to press his suit, and my mother, always wailing and weeping, kept on saying that she would die of a broken heart. Little by little my resistance weakened.Thus, after almost another year had passed, I sadlybecame the bride of Sātāgira.